What's Underneath
by ejectingthecore
Summary: Sequel to The Surface. Uhura follows up on Spock's surreptitious touch. This story takes place before and after the TOS episode Galileo 7. Explicit sex. Now complete.
1. 1 of 3

_Disclaimer: I own nothing Star Trek._

_Thank you to TeaOli and my writer friends for encouragement & assistance._

_This story is a **sequel** to The Surface, the one-shot in which Spock had to go to the shore leave fantasy planet and he gained some intimate knowledge. This story takes place shortly thereafter, during the time of the episode Galileo 7. This is part 1 of 3._

* * *

It was an odd time of morning to be in the rec room. The dark contours of its furniture and the fronds of its many alien ferns were lit only by the stars outside the one porthole where crew could observe space. Though the sky was black and the stars shone the same at any time of day or night, the ship's clock said it was 04:43. So early that only those who worked the night shift, or those who were assigned to that day's away mission, were up and dressed and working. Only those people, and Nyota Uhura. She and Commander Spock were alone.

She had something to ask him.

Fifteen days prior, he had touched her. He'd beamed up from the surface of what they termed "the fantasy planet" where they'd taken shore leave. The planet where everyone's dreams came true, where wishes came to literal, physical life.

Spock had returned from that planet and mentioned seeing her there.

He'd come to her work station, approached her from behind, and his dark presence sent a thrill down her spine. There had been moments like that before, simple sparks, like tiny lightning when she met his eyes, static electricity when their bodies were close in the lift, or when he absently brushed her hand during work. But it was always Spock, her colleague, her friend.

And then he'd _really_ touched her, when he returned from the shore leave world, discreetly, with just the tip of his thumb across the back of her neck. He slid his skin against hers, and the pressure and focus were strong and hot. It was a single second, a minor touch, and yet the most erotic thing she'd felt in her life.

He had alluded to seeing her down on the planet. What a pleasure it was. But she had not gone down! She could only guess what form of Nyota he had seen. His fantasy.

And so they stood in the recreation room two weeks and one day later, alone at 04:43, so Uhura could demand an explanation. Because the longer she wondered, the more strange and impossible it seemed, as if she had imagined his touch. And the longer she waited to ask him, the more she fancied catching his eyes watching her. The more she flirted with him and watched him blush. The more she noticed him standing a bit too close. She found a growing tension between them, a delicious one. A startling ignition, then a slow building fire. She had come to expect these new feelings, her heart taking flight when she saw him, her body and mind yearning, until she found herself leaning toward him, getting closer than before, smiling more than ever, beckoning in every unspoken way.

They stood with the stars before them. They were rather close together but still officially apart, and they spoke formalities, until finally it became silent and it was time for her to say what she had to say.

Her voice was almost a whisper.

"I want to know why you did it." She looked up into his brown eyes, and she felt it like a ton of bricks. The yearning was very strong, standing so close, and she was almost knocked off her feet by his nearness. In her mind, she could feel his skin again, the way it had moved across hers, the pressure, the dark and deep intention. She could almost feel what it would be like to lay a hand on his hard chest, right there in front of her face, what it would be like to feel him breathe. "I need to know. Why you touched me like that."

It made her almost shy. And Uhura was never shy.

"I would rather not respond."

If she weren't so intrigued, and so damn drawn to him, she would be pissed. But there was a burning hot thread pulling them together, a powerful magnetism. She could not tear herself away from his gaze, and as they came almost indiscernibly closer her head tipped back ever so slightly. He looked so strong, like a rock, and yet somehow afraid. His eyes were liquid and searching and so, so pretty. How had she not noticed his beauty?

The heat washed over her, and these thoughts made her breathless, and so what would have come out a reprimand was instead a soft flirtation, delivered as she spoke a thousand other volumes with her eyes. "Well you're _going _to respond, Mister. You touch a woman like that, you explain yourself."

He stood tall and immovable, his hands behind his back, but he radiated some kind of invitation she could not name or prove. "My response would no doubt sound inappropriate."

It was just there, pulling at her.

And so she pulled back. "Then don't _tell _me."

"But Ms. Uhura, you ju---"

"--Show me."

He raised one eyebrow. "Show you?"

"Commander," she breathed the word, his rank, as though it were a lover's pet name, and talking to him that way felt good and deeply right. She watched what it did to him. She watched a green tinge rise under his skin, watched his eyes intensify even more, focus in even tighter on hers, and she kept at him, with a voice like melted chocolate. "Sometimes the only logical response is an emotional one."

And as she told him this, she did place her hand on his chest, her palm flat against the blue fabric of his uniform. She felt his bones and the heat of his blood, and once she had breached their formal separateness a frank desire crashed through her in waves.

Spock looked frightened. "Lieutenant, I—"

His communicator sounded, and Kirk's voice filled the remaining space between them. The Captain was calling for the away team to assemble immediately.

*


	2. 2 of 3

_Part 2 of 3_

* * *

She had not allowed herself to fully imagine being with him. She was not one to tease herself, nor set herself up for disappointment, discomfort, or a dozen other negative outcomes. No, Nyota Uhura was not dumb.

But once she touched him a dam broke, and she couldn't wait any longer to let her mind sink into him. Her hand had pressed to his chest over the fabric of his uniform. Now she thought about what his skin would feel like underneath, velvety, warm. Did he have chest hair? She could only imagine.

He might have to go to the planet, but she had a while before her shift started for the day. So she drifted down onto the soft divan in the empty recreation room to dream. The stars outside the port blurred as her eyes softened and her mind traveled to where her hands might go when he returned.

In her mind, she skipped a lot of pleasantries. She'd come back to them later. But first she needed to get right into his clothes. She wasn't going to rush, but she was going to get there and soon. She imagined silently and slowly removing his phaser, locking it and setting it on the divan. In her fantasy, he did not move. His arms hung at his sides, and he simply dipped his head to look at what she was doing, to watch her begin to take him for her own.

Then she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants. He sucked in a breath and she felt his abs move, felt his hip bones, angular and hard. She dreamt that her fingers grazed his skin as she slid them along and just under the edge of his clothing. And then she stopped. Her fingers were still against his warmth, his dark hair leading down to where she wanted to go, but where she had not dared to even think about going. She crooked one finger and ran the back of it through that hair and he rumbled deep in his chest, so quietly she almost couldn't perceive it. She looked up at him and found his eyes were burning.

He was a sensual, sexual devil, his eyebrows dark and sweeping and steep, his lips pink and waiting.

"Take them off, Mister."

In her mind, he brought his hands up slowly to unfasten his pants, and she stepped back to give him room to undress, and so she could enjoy all of him, every bit. She waited, breathless, to see him, and the tiny point of her tongue waited, too, between her lips. And she wasn't disappointed. He lifted his pants gently up and off of his erection and let them drop, and his penis stood hard and wanting. It was beautiful, strong and big and fine. Her tongue then swept across her bottom lip, and he rumbled louder in his chest and stepped toward her. She backed up just a little, just a teasing step or two, and he stepped out of his pants as he came toward her, leaving them pooled on the floor.

She found herself backed up to the wall, and she felt its smooth surface under her palms as her hands splayed out to steady herself. Spock stood over her, tall and serious and hauntingly beautiful. He did not reach for her or touch her, but instead reached for the hem of his shirt and lifted everything off of himself at once, t-shirt and all. Mmmmmmm, yes. He was nude in all the right places, and she did not care that he still wore his dark boots. She dropped her eyes to consider them and found that, in fact, they made his nudity seem all the more naughty and delicious, and they made his calves look damn gorgeous.

It gave her an idea. And she slowly slid down the wall until she came to her knees.

Her mouth passed right by his straining cock, but she didn't stop to taste or touch it, she just continued sinking down until she sat back low on her heels. To Spock's credit, he didn't beg nor even waver, just waited for her to do and take what she wanted. His feet were spread, planted firmly just within her reach, and she started at one boot and began to touch. First she ran her fingers lightly over the leather, as if taking a tiny first taste. Then she stroked with a bit more pressure, running her fingers and long fingernails up and down his ankle. And he gasped as if she were touching not his boot, but his manhood, as if it felt that good. She began to press harder and make larger arcs and circles, moving up his calf until she touched not leather but skin. And when her fingers connected with his real skin, his penis moved toward her, wanting her now, begging to wait no more.

She ran her fingers softly and slowly up his calf, swirling her fingertips and incidentally scratching him with her long nails, and at that he groaned, though he held his ground and continued to let her take her time. She ran her hand up his inner thigh, so long and lean and in her face. He smelled masculine, like skin and soap and leather, and a tiny bit of engine grease, and she leaned in to taste his inner thigh and bite, and then he could not stand it anymore. He growled and took her head in his hands, and he pulled her up onto her knees gently but with purpose, and spread his legs farther until he sank into her waiting mouth.

He filled her up, so hot and sweet. He braced his hands against the wall above her head and began to move into her, and soon his inarticulate sounds of pleasure made her crazy. She was turned on by making him feel so good, by hearing his voice crack and feeling his body shake, so out of control. She felt herself getting impossibly wet and she sat hard on her heels and moved her bottom in circles to get some friction and relief. And as she was driven crazy, she took him more greedily and he began to thrust into her more powerfully until they reached a fever pitch, and he stretched her lips wide and she was humming and moaning around him and he growled and crashed into his orgasm and fell with his arms barely holding him up against the wall. She sank back to her heels and closed her eyes in bliss, feeling the tingling of her lips where he had left his essence.

In a moment he spoke to her, and his voice was deep and saturated with sex. "Stand, Nyota."

She shook her head in wonder. "Can't."

And so he helped her up, scooped up her body as though she weighed nothing and carried her the short distance back to the divan. He knelt next to the low couch, and she lay back and sighed and just looked at him in amazement. His beautiful, coveted face was so near to hers, and so peaceful. Not just placid, as always, but truly calm and satisfied, and it made her happy that he looked that way because of her. He reached for her face, touched her cheek with the back of his hand, and ran one finger down to her chin. He continued to drag his finger lower, down her throat, and every centimeter of skin he touched began to burn wickedly. She breathed deeply and arched into his touch, and he traced the long, sloping neckline of her uniform, much as she had traced the waistband of his pants.

Her eyes were closed, but it did not matter, for it was her mind's eye that saw everything. In her imagination, he sat back on his heels and reached just under the hem of her skirt, and there he began to run a hot hand down her leg until he reached the top of her boot. He gently and slowly unzipped it, and as he slid the boot away and her foot slipped out, he held it and it fit entirely in his large hand. He removed her other boot, similarly, and laid them aside, before removing her tights. He pushed her short skirt up over her thighs and she wiggled until the tight, red fabric was bunched up and revealed her lacy black panties. She reached for them and he shook his head silently, then removed them himself, dragging them down ever so slowly past her knees. She lifted one foot off the ground so he could slip them off. And then he stopped moving entirely and simply looked at her.

His eyes almost glowed with dangerous heat and desire, and she could only lay back and wait for him as he had waited for her, to touch and taste in his own time. He slid his hands up her legs, both at once, until he reached her thighs, and then he spread them open and she gasped and almost bucked with need and the blissful pain of anticipation. He dipped his head to taste her, and when his hot and silky tongue touched her she lifted her hips and cried, and he followed her motions and stayed with her and entered her with his tongue, then circled and touched every fold, over and over. She found herself holding her own legs back and up so he could reach deep. In her mind, she rode the waves of sensation he provided, and he ground out sounds of deep and intense pleasure as he took her, setting up a delicious vibration that made her close, so close.

She almost screamed when the lights snapped on in the recreation room and a small group of officers entered. They all said good morning and one apologized for interrupting her reverie. Another ensign said she hadn't expected anyone to be up so early. Nyota just laughed, breathlessly, and said she'd had trouble sleeping and had come to see the stars. She smiled her usual sweet and professional smile, but couldn't quite stand up and head back to her room. She just sat a while and enjoyed the view.

It was less than 20 minutes until her shift started, and not much longer before the shit hit the fan and the shuttle Spock was on simply vanished. When it happened, the stab of pain she felt in her heart was alarming. Her friend, Spock. Gone? And then she knew, it was worse. He was not just her friend. And she shouldn't have allowed herself to go there even in her mind. Not down his pants nor into his loving arms. She should have stayed professional, detached, uninvolved, and should have seriously kept her mind clean and pure. Because she had come to care, and want, and yearn, and it just wasn't okay that Spock was missing. She kept her wits about her, manned her post, and inside she cried out for the man who had made love to her, if only in her mind.

*


	3. 3 of 3

_Part 3 of 3._

* * *

Spock was not exactly oblivious, but his normal acuity was affected by the events of the day. He had made it back to the ship, against odds which even he had not taken the time to calculate precisely because they were so obviously, deeply bad.

He—and the people he commanded—had been seconds from death when they were gathered by the transporter beam. To their credit, most of them behaved and performed admirably, neither blaming him nor weeping with fear or relief. But it had been a desperate and wrenching time for them, and he could feel the energy of crackling Human emotion. It was disorienting.

He was pleased to return to the bridge and attempt to restore normalcy.

Yet, even on the bridge, his most natural and comfortable place, there was something different. Ms. Uhura was leaning toward him strangely, as though she could not quite control her body. She was slopped over the back of her chair as he passed, and her eyes followed him intensely.

He was, truth be told, relieved to have made it home. The Captain's teasing notwithstanding, being alive was preferable to oblivion. And so he recognized that Uhura's energy was likely comprised of relief. But relief that _he_ was home? What was he to her? They were indeed friends and colleagues. And though he was loath to admit it, he had fantasized about her quite explicitly over the past two weeks and one day, since encountering her on the shore leave planet. He had tried to expunge those memories and desires, opting for professionalism and attempting control. But then she had placed her palm against his body early that morning, in a gesture that, he had to admit, excited something deep and primal that had to be rapidly contained.

In the midst of crisis, he had forgotten about that small hand against his chest. But as her brown eyes focused on his on the bridge, and her mouth widened into a radiant smile, he remembered it like one might remember being hit by an anvil. Yes, she had touched him, not lightly or accidentally, but firmly and with what seemed like sweet and devious intent. The recollection flustered him. Suddenly it seemed impossible to reach his station.

"You're not going to admit that for the first time in your life, you committed a purely human emotional act?"

The memory of her hand had become everything, and he could give only the most fundamental answers. "No, sir."

They laughed at him. Ms. Uhura, too, laughed at him. But her eyes sparkled and caught his strangely.

He remained distracted throughout the shift.

Finally, they completed their work and left the bridge at the same time. She walked next to him and glanced up as they proceeded, and again her eyes were searching and strange. When he looked down at her, she smiled slyly and her eyelashes brushed against her cheeks. He noticed that her earrings swung gently against her neck as she proceeded down the corridor, and in a flash an image of her in a sparkling green outfit, smiling in the grotto on the fantasy planet filled his mind. His eyes moved from those earrings to follow the slope of her throat and shoulder, and as his eyes dropped lower he found he could see where her breasts came together just below the neckline of her uniform.

"Mr. Spock." He was jolted awake by her silvery voice. She had been speaking to him.

He cleared his throat. "Ms. Uhura."

"I asked if you would join me in my quarters for a private conversation."

They were, strangely enough, directly in front of her door.

He could feel himself being awkward, and yet could do nothing to change it, and so he simply adjusted his shoulders and looked at her with a blank countenance. "Is there something you must say that you cannot relate to me here in the corridor?"

"Seriously?"

His eyebrows met in surprise. He was, perhaps most of all, surprised not by her question but by his own behavior. He wanted her. Immediately. His body was so ready to take hers he could barely breathe, and she was inviting him into her quarters. As he thought about her hair and the skin on the back of her neck, his breath became soft and shallow and his eyes started to close.

Again her voice—this time not so silver sweet—woke him with a start.

"You almost died today. I am not going to let you get away with any more vague bullshit."

He opened his eyes fully to stare.

"Spock," she shook her head. "There is a lot that I would like to say to you that I cannot, and would not, ever, say here in the hallway."

He stared some more.

"Step into my quarters, Mister."

She turned on her heel and her door swished open. One of his eyebrows rose, and he followed her into her room. Her skirt was, he was almost certain, at least two centimeters shorter than usual, and when she turned to face him it strained against her thighs.

He placed his hands behind his back and attempted to raise his eyes to her face, but it was difficult to let go of the vision of her thighs. He endeavored to stand up properly straight, but he found himself folding in toward her, drawn to her.

They were alone and in the quiet. Truly alone, not on a fantasy planet, not in a recreation room, not in their minds and hearts and dreams, but together in the warm, almost-dark of Nyota's quarters. And while the Human phrase "now or never" came to mind, Spock was unable to act. He swallowed hard. Her eyes were on fire, and the memory of the fantasy planet begin to bloom again in his consciousness. He drove it back. Because she, Nyota, stood before him. Now he could know the true woman, if he were to just reach and touch.

For the first time that day, he was afraid.

And then she touched him. In the exact same place as she had that morning in the recreation room. She laid her palm on his chest, and this time they both breathed deeply at the contact. He shifted his weight very slightly toward her, into her hand, and she pressed back and the connection between them was staggering and hot. She looked at her hand, then up at him, as she spoke. "Spock, you are a stubborn man."

He wanted to speak, to tell her he was not stubborn, really, just an awkward boy looking at a woman and wanting her so much, but instead he watched silently, watched as her lips opened ever so slightly and she raised her free hand to touch two fingers to her own mouth. "Put your lips here."

He watched her eyelids descend. And finally he bowed his head to do so, and she tipped her head back to receive his lips and give him hers. It was pure fire and deep, searching breath and touch. He felt her strong arms come up behind him, felt one of her hands on the small of his back, and he was maddened by that simple touch and again made an animal sound, growling into their kiss. His arms also came up around her and enclosed her in his heat, and he pressed the length of his body into hers. His real body, and her real body, together and solid and ready to know.

* * *

_the end_


End file.
